Predator: Global Conflict
by ED209
Summary: 1941: Britain has given Finland an ultimatum: halt all offensive operations against the USSR or face a war with the Allies. In an attempt to reinforce their position, Britain attacks a German outpost. The bloodshed and violence attracts unwanted attention
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One – Over The Top

The rain hadn't let up for three days straight. The water was now knee-deep in some areas of the trench. The thick brown walls of mud were spattered with blackened scorch marks and occasionally the deep crimson of congealed blood. It was midnight; the moon shone over the desolate wasteland and danced over the debris and aftermath of what had become an almost continuous fire fight. The rays of moonlight cast enigmatic silhouettes on the cold damp muddy ground, the barbs from the razor wire casting shadows resembling fingers that pointed accusingly in all directions. The cold wet nights were like paradise in comparison to the humid daytime where, in spite of the relentless downpour, the heat was enough to send a man crazy. It was a battle to remain sane, a pitched effort to retain what little composure was left. If that wasn't enough to contend with, there was also the constant threat offered by the bullets and shells that pummelled the trenches persistently. War in the newsreels didn't look like this, it was all parades and dog fights. During the recruitment drive, it was hinted that the battalions wouldn't even see active service. It was also commented that it would all be over by Christmas. Somebody had lied.

Tracer bullets pulsed overhead as they heralded another volley of fire from the monstrous automatic weapons that sat little over 500 yards from the trench. As the bullets found their targets their arrival was punctuated by explosions of mud and occasionally a scream of pain. There was no doubt about it; C Company was pinned down. A handful of machine gunners crouched in the corner of the trench; the corrugated cardboard overhead offering little protection from the incoming battery. The machine gunners exchanged anxious glances; their eyes gave away their emotion. It was time to go over the top. Lance Corporal Jenkins counted the fire from the large anti personnel guns, 80 rounds followed by forty seconds reload time. They had roughly forty seconds to breach the trench, cover 500 yards and incapacitate the guns. With closed eyes he counted the current volley, "77, 78, 79, and 80! Go Go Go!" With a deep breath he blew hard on his whistle. The machine gunners scrambled up the flimsy wooden ladders that reached up out of the trenches and clambered onto the muddy wasteland known as "no man's land". The mist caused by the gun smoke was thick and choking, causing confusion as to which was the right way to go. Occasional white flashes cut through the mist as the enemy soldiers fired wildly into the night. Although this offered a reference point for direction of travel, it meant that the enemy knew they were coming. Jenkins stumbled over the uneven ground as bullets whistled past his head, by the time he reacted to them; they were already a considerable distance past him. He looked to his left; the machine gunner next to him trudged through the thick mud with steely determination, his eyes ablaze with fury. He glanced over and their eyes met when without warning the young man's expression changed. Sickening thuds rang in Jenkins' ears as the machine gunner's body was peppered by machine gun fire. He dropped to the floor like a rag doll. Jenkins' attention quickly turned to the source of the incoming assault; they had pre-empted the push and reserved one of the big guns in anticipation. "You bastards!" With a roar of rage, he sprinted toward the muzzle flash of the large weapon, the other remaining machine gunners followed suit, pounding through the marshy surface of the battlefield. Bullets thundered past them. Several of them dropped to the floor as bullets found their targets, slamming into the bodies of the soldiers, tearing them apart as if they were made of paper. Jenkins threw himself to the floor; he was little over 50 yards from one of the weapons that had caused so much destruction. He deftly pulled a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin with his teeth and tossed it under the large heavy wheels of the heavy gun. The gun exploded in a ball of flame as the remaining ammunition ignited. Clearly panicked by the turn of events, the soldiers in control of the remaining heavy gun swung the muzzle around to bear of Jenkins, as they fumbled with the firing mechanism, they were totally oblivious to the two machine gunners that now grew ever closer to them. The heavy gun operators didn't have the opportunity to scream as the cold sharp steel of the bayonets punctured their abdomens with cruel precision. With the main opposition neutralised, the remaining soldiers breached the trench and closed in on the enemy compound, the muzzles of their machine guns alight as they cut down the remaining opposition. And then came the silence. Jenkins surveyed the human wreckage that littered the battlefield; his heart heavy at the loss of so many lives. He was brought back to reality quickly as the soldiers were enveloped by a harsh whistling sound. The sound was followed by several heavy thumps. Jenkins anxiously scanned the area for the cause of the noise; his eyes met something that confirmed his fears. Several large metallic canisters now lay only a few yards from his position, their contents spewing into the air like thick yellow fog.

"Gas!" The soldiers fumbled with their gas masks as the air was filled with a cloud of putrid and deadly mustard gas. Jenkins looked over his team, ensuring that they had been able to don their masks in time. Jenkins spun round as a hand gripped his arm, the gas masked figure pointing with the other hand at the struggling figure a few inches away. "Oh Lord, no!" One of the soldiers was still wrestling with the latchet on his mask satchel. Blood began to flow from his nose as he coughed and hacked violently, his hands began shaking causing his to drop his satchel to the ground. Unsteadily he staggered to Jenkins and with a gravelly squeal uttered two words; "help me." By this time Jenkins knew it was too late for the poor soul before him. All that lay in store for his fellow soldier now was minutes of agony, fear and eventually death. The soldier began to convulse violently on the ground, his eyes bloodshot, foam oozing from his mouth. Jenkins pulled his service revolver from its holster and pointed it at the head of the dying man. He closed his eyes tightly and squeezed the trigger. In an instant the body of the soldier went limp. Jenkins peered into the lifeless eyes of his fallen comrade and reached forth. As he closed the young man's eyes he uttered a single word; "sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two - Interrogations

The darkness in the interrogation room was stifling. The air so hot that breathing was near impossible. It had been hours since the interrogator finished his attempt at aggressive persuasion. He had screamed a torrent of abuse and finally stormed out, slamming the door as he went. He was wasting his time. The bound man, the target of his aggression was not going to tell him anything. He wasn't the talking type. Not because of any patriotism or loyalty; it was simply that he didn't feel like it. The darkness and silence was broken by the sound of a vehicle turning over on the outside of the building, its headlights faintly shining through the tiny grilled window. The light was enough to cause the man's dog tags to glint in the darkness. The name on the tags was Randall. As the light danced over his body he became uncomfortably aware of the fact that not only was he tied up, he was naked. Just then, the door burst open and the portly frame of the interrogator swaggered into the room. Randall wasn't very good at understanding German but could certainly tell he was being insulted.

The Interrogator continued his verbal onslaught, "Saurkerl! Wer hat Sie geschickt?"

Randall tilted his head in confusion, "Hey, hey! Fritz! Its bad enough you're swearing at me. At least I think you are. But why am I naked? C'mon, I know its lonely in these places but surely you boys shower together?" He pouted his lower lip in mocking sadness "is that it? The other boys wont let you play?"

"Arschloch!" The interrogator began raining punches down onto Randall's still grinning face. Finally the interrogator stepped back and pulled a pistol from his waistband, jabbing it firmly onto Randall's forehead.

"Well I guess foreplay's over"

"Wartezeit!" The voice boomed from the corridor. A slender trenchcoated figure sauntered through the still open door and settled in the corner of the room, leaning casually on the grey dusty wall. "Allow me to speak with him. Alone." He nodded at the interrogator and gestured for him to leave the room. As the door shut, the trenchcoat pulled the chair closer to Randall and sat in the usual 'I'm your friend' stance.

Randall had seen this before. "I'm guessing you're good cop then. Offering me freedom in exchange for what I know?"

Trenchcoat grinned, "Actually, our friend who just left the room was good cop. That said; I'm not bad." His grin widened, "I'm the worst"

Randall looked confused "You're the Sausage?"

"No! Not Wurst. Worst! Guess what, Funny guy? I have authority to give you a final chance. In 24 hours you will come back to this room. If you still do not talk. You will die. Is that funny? Is that enough comedy for you?"

"Thats really not funny. I'm surprised you lack decent humor when your leader is a midget clown with a comedy moustache"

A pistol again was thrust to Randall's forehead, "Insult the Fuhrer again and I will kill you now."

"Oh, the moustache isnt ironic? Then I apologise."

The trenchcoat stood and slowly walked out of the door. "24 hours, you will give me what I need."

"Fat chance of that" muttered Randall as the door swung closed. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three - Remembering the grim discovery

Battles were never glamorous. Victory almost certainly came at a price. Sometimes the price was paid with blood, other times it was with your self respect and most typically, your sanity. They had sucessfully taken the enemy compound and with it, they had gained valuable ground. The cost of this particular victory was the lives of fourteen young men. None of them had seen their twentieth year. The remainder of the group were scouring the wreckage of the compound, eliminating any pockets of resistance they found along the way. The communications room had been sucessfully captured and now served as the groups base of operations. Jenkins slumped against the wall and slid to the hard ground, his hand fished into his breast pocket and pulled out a worn and folded photograph. The five monochrome faces on the photograph beamed back at him as though he was gazing into a portal through time. The picture reminded him of a time when he was happy. He had just been transferred into a newly formed tactical unit and had bonded so quickly with his new team. The picture had been taken exactly a year ago but it seemed like a lifetime had passed. He allowed his mind to wander back to the time the photo was taken.

The year was 1940; six months before their new division was revealed to the world. The founder, Colonal David Stirling, had high hopes for what they could acheive with such dedicated professionals with such a vast array of skills. Under the deliberately misleading name "L Detachment, Special Air Service Brigade", they began running black ops from a base in North Africa. Jenkins had been brought in as a demolitions expert, specialising in bomb disarming and surgical strikes. The other four members of his detachment had their own skills; Shaw was the wheel man, there wasnt a single vehicle, boat or aircraft he couldnt handle. Randall was the assassin; unmatched for his skills in marksmanship, unarmed combat and his ability to escape from even the most secure of prisons. Perkis, or hardware as he was monikered by his team; was the heavy gunner, capable of cutting down entire platoons in minutes. The final member of the team was Hudson; he was drafted from the scientific research team. He held his own in a firefight but his inclusion in the team made him something of an enigma. He was a specialist in Gas Centrifuge technology and has often seen gathering data on weather conditions and humidity for something planned for the near future he called the "Manhattan". The team were far from perfect, Randall had a big mouth and an uncanny knack of delivering one liners at the most inappropriate moments. Couple that with Perkis' short fuse and you have the catalyst for petty squabbling and, on occasion, all out war.

The team had real potential. They were a force to be reckoned with and in a short space of time, began making a real impact on the theatre of war in North Africa. On January 12th 1941, the rules changed. A standard raid on a smuggler's compound was fraught with complications. The smugglers were not only highly trained and heavily armed; they were expecting the attack. L Detatchment were cut off from retreat, pinned down by the hail of high velocity gunfire. Jenkins was mere feet away from the source of the onslaught but was unable to advance. "Perkis! Forget capture. We dont need to question them. Lethal force has been authorised!"

Perkis closed his eyes and listened to the whistle of the bullets as they sailed over his head. From his position behind a damaged pickup truck, he was sheilded from the peppering of projectiles. He pulled the minigun from its resting place across his shoulder and cocked the firing mechanism. He leapt to his feet and brought the minigun to bear on the mound of sandbags that provided cover for the machine gun that currently assailed the team. Squeezing the trigger, Perkis steadied himself for the recoil of the giant gun he held in his hands. As the barrel gained momentum, a string of bullets began to flee from the end of the minigun, cutting the sandbags apart with ease. The machine gun and its operator quickly became a mangled mass of flesh and splintered metal. As Perkis hosed the area with minigun fire, explosions were followed by screams of both pain and fear. As the returned fire decreased in intensity; the other members of L detachment were able to mobilise and offer supporting fire. the minigun fire stopped abruptly as the final rounds were expelled from the barrel. Perkis threw the gun to the floor and unholstered two Colt .45 pistols from around his waist. Arms outstretched he ran the length of the clearing, firing apparently wildly in random directions before stopping dead. As he turned to face the rest of his team, the bodies of the now dead smugglers began to fall from their hiding places, each one killed by a single .45 round to the forehead.

Randall surveyed the bodies and turned to Perkis, "Woah! Nice shooting! You win the goldfish!" Randall froze as he heard a faint rustling from behind. As he spund to face the origin of the sound, a single smuggler lunged forward with this bayonet outstretched. Randall snapped into action immediately; sidestepping the attack and plunging his knife into the smugglers throat. As the smuggler slumped to the ground, Randall turned to Perkis and raised a single eyebrow, "No goldfish for you". This was met by a single raised finger from Perkis.

Jenkins reloaded his rifle and walked over to Randall "Ladies, please. This isnt the time for handbags at dawn."

"Jenkins, take a look at this." There was grave tone to Hudson's voice.

"What is it?" Jenkins wandered over to Hudson who was now crouching over a crate containing a large cylindrical container emblazoned with the biohazard sign.

Hudson ran his hand over the cylinder and brushed woodshavings aside to reveal a contol panel. "I'm not sure. The layout suggests a detonator and some sort of reactive substance. Maybe chemical. Whatever it is; I doubt its healthy." Hudson deftly detatched the control panel and removed part of the outer shell of the cylinder. "Oh."

Jenkins peered over the shoulder of Perkins, straining to understand exactly what it is he is seeing. "Oh?"

"Thats not good." He pulled a battered black notebook from his pocket and flipped it open to the centre pages. "EBW detonators inserted into brass chimney sleeves." He pulled a metallic plate from the interior of the cylinder and fished a small black box from his bag, placing it gingerly onto the newly exposed surface. The lights on the box flashed wildly and several excited clicks emanated from the box. "Plastic Shell, possibly Boron. due to the readings. I suspect a polonium-beryllium initiator." Hudsons eyes were flushed with panic.

Jenkins grabbed his shoulder, "what is it?"

Hudson could not hide the concern in his countenance, "Not only have they managed to make it. They've made it smaller." He swallowed, took a deep breath and stood to face the rest of his team. "Gentlemen. Say hello to the Manhattan." 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four - The Insignia

The team sat surrounding Hudson as he gave them a brief history and description of Manhattan Project, their attentions switching from his face to the crate that was perched atop the rear of one of the crippled pick-up trucks. Hudson had the type of build that commanded attention, his height of 6ft 5in was complimented by the sheer size of his chest; he resembled a fist fighter more than a scientist. His large dark eyes pierced through his olive jewish complexion as he ran his fingers through his hair. "This crate is a real enigma. The tech is the same, but someone has thrown down some serious dollar trying to make it portable. This is definitely Manhattan. I know other countries have their own designs but they're all radically different to ours and none of them work."

Jenkins raised his hand, "So what is the Manhattan?"

"Last year, I was in deep discussion with a contact from The Uranium Committee, an organization set up to investigate Atomic energy and where possible, harness its potential as a weapon. They wanted me to take a look at an artefact they had discovered in some deep-dark jungle out in South America. It looked like some sort of alien bracelet but was smashed beyond repair"; Hudson let out a nervous laugh; "not that we'd have known where to start fixing it! The technology was far advanced and well beyond anything we could ever even hope to imagine, but there were aspects that gave us a few pointers as to where we could start."

"Like what?"

"Well, the bracelet contained a device that, although we couldnt say why for certain, seemed to be purely there to accellerate particles that could enter the small chamber that was contained in the bracelet. This got us to thinking about the energetic reaction that had recently been discovered by scientists that had managed to split a uranium atom. Since a pound of uranium contains trillions of atoms, the chances of a stray neutron hitting another atom of uranium are very high. While a controlled chain reaction could create safe nuclear power, an uncontrolled reaction would have the potential to devastate."

Randall eyed the crate with trepidation, "Devastate?"

"Imagine an explosion with equivalent force to 15,000 tons of TNT. Imagine the resulting explosion being so fierce that the sky darkens even at midday as the flash wave makes the sun fade in comparison. Imagine the resulting dust cloud being so poisonous that people for miles around die of radiation sickness. Any survivors and any future offspring suffering from cancers, deformity and genetic disorders for generations. From that crate."

Randall regarded the crate again, "I want one."

Hudson smiled "I thought so. Only someone unhinged or bent on mass death would be so keen to unleash this puppy." Hudson allowed his attention to wander for a second, his face reflecting a wave of panic for a moment before he darted toward the crate. He pulled his knife from its holder and began to scratch away at the creosote layer that coated the wood. The thick brown coating began to yield to Hudson's furious knifework as he scraped layer after layer from the crate until he was met by the scrape of metal on metal. A shiver of panic became a surge of rage as he regarded the insignia on the newly revealed metal plate. The eagle had its wings defiantly spread as it carried the ring of leaves which in turn contained the one symbol that Hudson didnt want to see on a crate containing such destructive power. The Swastika. "Son of a bitch!"

Hudson fought back tears as thoughts of his family invaded his mind. Hudson's family had moved to America when he was a child and changed their surname from Hurwitz, his aunt and uncle had stayed behind in Germany due to their careers. They were both prominent doctors in Berlin. They were respected as professionals and as the genuine honest people they were. It only took one night in November 1938 to remove that respect and as a result, that very night they lost their lives. The only Jewish people in Germany were either hiding, in prison camps or dead. The dead ones were the lucky ones. The once proud race of people had been likened to rats and were now treated with the same distain as their rodent counterparts.

Jenkins gazed at the insignia and upon recognition of its meaning, closed his eyes and placed his hand on Hudson's shoulder. "They wont get this back. We wont let them." 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

The last stand of L-Detachment

"Come in base station, this is call sign Wraith 228. We have a major find here. Requesting immediate evac at our last broadcasted co-ordinates. Over."

The tinny speaker on the field radio cracked into life "Wraith, this is base station dispatch. The area is too hot. I repeat, too hot. Evac request denied."

"Damn it. I guess we'll have to dig in here and wait it out until some of the patrols have been cleared by the sapper teams." Jenkins gave Perkis a cursory nod as the gunner erected the frame to mount an M2 Browning machine gun to one of the damaged Jeeps.

Hudson's gaze remained fixed on the insignia. He hadn't looked away from the crate containing the bomb for the past hour. The intensity in his stare seemed to indicate that if he was to look away, the crate may disappear. Jenkins placed his hand firmly on Hudson's shoulder. "You look drained. We'll be taking shifts on the permiter, we'll put you on last it you want some shut eye before your shift."

Hudson's eyes remained fixed on the crate, "I'll take first watch if that's ok, sir. I don't think I could sleep anyway."

As the day came to a close; the darkness of night begun to creep into the clearing. shadows begun to stretch across the ground as though they were forming one final yawn before the night drew in. The jungle canopy that surrounded the team fell in silence, save for the occasional chirp or cackle from the nocturnal beasts that dwelt within. Hudson sat perched atop the stricken jeep, his finger gently resting upon the trigger of the machine gun. The events of the day combined with his adrenaline wearing off were causing him to slowly drift in and out of sleep. Suddenly he awoke with a start. His finger poised on the trigger of the Browning perched in front of him. The hairs on his neck were stood on end. He could sense that something was near. He knew that he was being watched. As his eyes darted around for a sign of movement in the dense jungle canopy, he hoped to be greeted with one of the boars that were indiginous to the area. His blood ran cold as he heard a sound coming from behind. It sounded like a muffled human voice. He strained to hear it again, breathing shallow and mouth open in preparation. The sound came again; this time much clearer.

"Turn around."

The voice was whispered and low. He didn't recognise it as a member of his team. As he slowly brought the machine gun to bear he closed his eyes as something reared up to his left.

"Wake up!" Randall roared with laughter as Hudson nearly fell from the back of the Jeep.

"Asshole. Why don't you go and find a snake to play with?" Hudson found a smile creeping across his face. This distraction came with a certain degree of relief.

"It's not healthy being so serious all the time..." Randall's retort was cut short as the two spun to face a harsh beeping sound that started emanating from within one of the huts.

Hudson gestured over to the hut, "Thats the radio room."

They slowly made their way into the shack and noted the small radio set that sat atop a small rickety desk. Randall looked to Hudson in panic as a voice boomed over the speaker. It was English but it didn't sound friendly. "Approaching objective Alpha. Manhattan is in sight. Confirm secondary target, capture the scientist. Eliminate all others." As the reality of the message sunk in, the hut was filled with light as the hut was torn apart by machine gun fire. Hudson and Randall threw themselves to the floor to escapre the deadly arc of bullets that peppered the radio room.

Randall grabbed the back of Hudson's head, "Can you destroy that bomb with out killing us?"

"Yes. As long as it isnt activated."

"They're after you. I'll cut you a path to the bomb. They can't leave here with it." Randall jumped to his feet and pulled his machete from his waist band. As one of the invading troops breached the doorway, Randall brought down his blade with precision, easily severing the arm; leaving the soldier incapacitated and screaming in pain. As Hudson followed Randall's trail of destruction, he found himself closer and closer to the bomb. As he reached the crate, he began to stuff his grenades around the edges of the bomb. As he reached in to pull the pins form the grenades, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. The had been shot, he spun only to see Randall being hit around the head with a rifle butt and his motionless body being bundled into the rear of an APC.

Jenkins, Shaw and Perkis had heard the commotion and sprung into action, the attackers were not aware of their positions and used this to their stealthy advantage. As Jenkins rounded the corner into the main clearing, he had seen the events unfolding. He frantically waved to Hudson, "It can't leave here. If you can't destroy it, arm it!" Hudson knew what he had to do. Dodging the steady volley of gunfire, he deftly attached the trigger device to the main cylinders. As the bomb hummed into life, Hudson suddenly felt the sharp agony of another bullet slamming into his shoulder. He dropped to the floor and was quickly scooped up by one of the invaders. The soldier peered into the crate, "Shit, its armed. Dust off now!" He quickly stuffed Hudson into the APC and sped off into the jungle. Jenkins, Perkis and Shaw were trapped. The remining invaders were closing in on their location and it was only a matter of time before they were dead. Perkis frantically gestured toward the rear of the attackers, there was a single Jeep left both undamaged and unattended. Shaw faded into the canopy as Jenkins and Perkis unleased a volley of fire at the troops, the shots killed two and injured more, but all were preoccupied with the onslaught and gave Shaw the opportunity to flank the troops and climb into the Jeep. The engine roared into life as he slammed it into first gear,the wheels spun as thick mud sprayed from the rear of the Jeep as it fought to gain grip on the slimy ground beneath. Finally it shuddered and shot forth, mowing down several soldiers before drifting to a halt in front of Jenkins and Perkis. "Get in!" As they climbed aboard the Jeep, the vehicle was peppered with gunfire and bullets ricocheted from the chassis as it dissapeared into the dense jungle.

As the attackers gave chase, what followed was nothing short of a bloodbath. The jeep's fuel tank had been punctured by the hail of bullets and petrol was leaking profusely from the rear. Perkis leapt into action and brought the jeep-mounted machine gun to bear on their pursuers. He roared as he fired the gun directly into the driver's window of the pursuing Jeep, the driver spasmed violently as his body was torn apart by the bullets as they slammed into him like lead rain. Suddenly Perkis' aim was thrown off as the Jeep jolted and swung to one side, one of the tyres had blown. The Jeep lurched back and forth before swerving, rolling down the steep jungle terrain and crashing at the foot of an immense tree.

"Unh... Is... Everyone...?" Shaw struggled to his feet and limped to the aid of his fellow soldiers. His face contorted with sorrow as he saw the lifeless body of Perkis, he had been impaled by part of the chassis. It would have been quick and painless. He kicked the passenger door open and found Jenkins badly injured but alive. He fought with the buckled seat in an attempt to free his comrade.

"Leave... Me..." Jenkins tried to put Shaw away.

"Not a chance, Top. We never leave a man behind"; with a grunt of exertion, he pulled him free of the twisted metal of the Jeep and carried him clear of the wreckage. As they passed the thick of the canopy that had become Perkis' tomb, they were greeted with the roar of immense engines and a familiar insignia emblazoned across a sheet of steel. It was the RAF.

One of the pilots rushed tot he aid of the injured party, "we're about to leave, this place is crawling with Jerry!"

Jenkins grabbed the pilot's shoulder, "We need to leave ASAP. Theres a bomb. A big bomb, about to go off."

The pilot snorted "We'll be fine, we're at least three miles from your broadcasted location. We have time."

Jenkins coughed for air, "M.. Manhattan. Its the Manhattan."

The word cought the attention of one of the other pilots, "Manhattan? Here? Shit, we need to fall back!"

Jenkins and Shaw ambled up the ramp into the bomber as the engines whirred up to speed. As the plane lifted from the ground, one of the air crew handed the survivors shaded visors, "Put these on, you'll thank me for them if the Manhattan is about to pop." Jenkins thought for a moment about the fate of the rest of his team. As the plane broke cloud cover, there was a bright flash and the plane began to shudder as an ear-splitting explosion seemed to rock the very air that surrounded them. As Jenkins squinted to recover from the flash, he looked out of the window. He was awestruck by the sight of the immense mushroom cloud that dominated the horizon.

Jenkins wasn't the only one whose attention had been caught by the explosion. Far above the Earth; a small, insignificant spacecraft hung in orbit. Its sole occupant regarded the heat signatures of the explosion with eager anticipation. It deftly manipulated the controls that sat in the front of the craft and slammed its fist into a glowing red button. The cockpit detached from the craft and began to fall to the Earth below. 


End file.
